Catalytic Conversion
by TimelessWriter
Summary: A re-telling of Mass Effect 3's Ending for my Commander Shepard, and the fate of many of the characters surrounding him.
1. Chapter 1

"_... It has to be something on your end."_

Hackett's voice riled Shepard from his stupor. He stumbled away from Anderson's body, staggering toward the console on legs that, by all rights, should have disintegrated already.

"_Commander Shepard?"_

The console was a flickering array of red warning lights. They pulsed and throbbed like the pain in his head as he slumped forward and propped himself up by a bloodied elbow, shaking on the spot.

"_I don't see... I'm not sure how to..."_

The holographics came in and out of focus. He couldn't be sure whether that was his sight or a fluctuating console; what he did see was circuit-like streams of light weaving amidst the blazing red haze of the error messages, congregating in the corner of the console to form a hexagonal, many-layered three dimensional protrusion. It didn't belong – that much he knew. It reminded him considerably more of the Collectors' controls; perhaps this was part of the Crucible. Perhaps this is part of what the Protheans added to the design?

He thumped the console with a fist, squashing the immaterial geometric outcropping of holograms as if it were palpable substance. The entire console erupted with green shapes and from the streams of light and intermittent warning signs Shepard could gauge that the Citadel was being overridden or perhaps reprogrammed somehow. The platform juddered and the stream of energy connecting the Crucible to the Citadel visibly grew more unstable, sending sparks and arcs of lightning fruitlessly into space, striking pieces of metallic debris. The glow that followed was blinding, soon forcing an already disorientated Shepard to his knees with a mangled arm slung across his eyes; followed by a series of incrementally violent lurches that threw him around the platform.

The glow, it seemed, was more than benign luminescence. It was a wave that was growing in magnitude and increasing in velocity at an alarming rate. A dread however briefly rattled his mind, fearing that he may have unleashed the indiscriminate destruction they had assumed the Catalyst would fix. His vision blurred and dimmed into bleak greyscale as all semblance of adrenaline finally washed out of his system and he toppled to the floor.

"_Admiral, something's happening... The Crucible..."_

"_I can see that."_

Hackett stormed over to the intercom with some urgency, assuming the worst as any sensible officer must.

"_All hands, I repeat, all hands – brace for impact! All available power to shore up kinetic barriers!"_

The wave of cerulean light seemed almost tranquil at first as it glided through the air. For the great separating distance and the shimmering ripples it could have been water-like were it not for the voraciousness with which it expanded and hurtled outward; any semblance of calm sea was replaced with a terrifying tempestuous miasma as it became visible in more detail. The storm of energy crashed into the side of the vessel. Other than a ringing in the ears and some sounds of fuses going, the result seemed anticlimactic to say the least.

"_Status report!"_

Upon the bridge, most of the crew were militarily unfazed and still working their consoles diligently.

"_Kinetic barriers holding steady."_

"_Core is stable, engines are functional."_

"_No hull breaches."_

"_Three casualties. They're being transferred to the medbay."_

"_Reaper forces have ceased fire."_

The admiral turned toward the fore of the dreadnaught and stared dead ahead through the gigantic debris field. Sure enough, the armada of enormous shellfish-like reapers had stopped firing.

"_Get our sensors back online. All fleets, continue firing!"_

The cannonade of thousands of guns thundered toward the motionless reapers and thumped into their shells. The result was unprecedented destruction; their kinetic barriers were non-existent and with every dreadnaught hit or Thanix cannon barrage a terrific rift was torn into the armour plating of the motionless vessels. In amongst the fleet of reapers a few seemed to squirm and squirt streams of accelerated molten metal, screeching out in flailing red beams to no productive avail.

The squirming now possessed most of the Reaper fleet, almost like a plague of involuntary twitches and spasms. The piercing crimson lights that formed their eye-like orifices and weapon platforms flickered and dimmed. Some of the smaller vessels without warning started to splinter and tear themselves apart. Hackett thought briefly about gloating over victory or cracking a grin to his crew; but there was one more, infinitely important thing to attend to.

"_SSV Normandy, do you copy?"_

Joker's fingers flew across the flight controls, weaving the battered frigate through the debris. EDI's voice was something of a background noise, but one he'd grown attached to and learned to listen to.

"_Admiral Hackett is addressing us, Jeff."_

"_Repeat, SSV Normandy, do you copy?"_

For a moment he again sank his attention into dodging a massive detached Reaper tentacle which scraped away the last few percentage points of the kinetic barriers.

"_Yeah, yeah, I know. Think he can tell us what the hell just happened?"_

"_My external sensors are now functional. I can assess the nature of the event, but I highly recommend answering the Admiral first."_

An afterthought of Joker's reflexive hand movements engaged the communications as he swerved around a cluster of malfunctioning reaper probes, taking a moment to grin as a human fighter picked them off as he passed.

"_This is the Normandy, Admiral. What the hell just happened?"_

Hackett's voice still had that almost perturbing, unshakable and croaky calm. Must have been something that comes with age or experience; or both.

"_We don't know. Shepard's still on the Citadel. Status unknown."_

Determination flooded Joker's system in another bout of adrenaline and purpose; the frigate nimbly darted through what was left of the battle debris and blitzed toward the Citadel.

"_Copy that, on our way."_

"_Jeff, I am detecting a power fluctuation coming from the central tower; it is possible that Shepard activated the catalyst from there."_

Almost entirely without warning, the Citadel rotated a tiny amount – barely perceptible – and the central tower lit up. Energy rocked across the colossal arms of the Citadel and a blinding beam of the same cerulean energy screamed past the Normandy's port side.

"_EDI?"_

"_Calculating the beam's trajectory... Jeff, it appears to be aimed at the Sol Relay."_

"_RRRRRAAAHHHH!"_

The krogan's bulky shoulder collided with the cannibal and sent it crashing into a nearby phone box. It twitched and writhed on the ground, unable to act any further. He snorted derisively. The salarian following him darted over to the incapacitated reaper specimen and examined it, casting a scanner from his omni-tool over the still-breathing creature's body.

"_Flesh is responding to – no, attacking – cybernetic implants. Rejection. Core cognitive function compromised. Synthetic elements inoperable, no longer interfacing with organic elements."_

Wrex laughed and thumped his bloodied gauntlets together.

"_And here I was thinking they'd actually put up a fight."_

The salarian seemed to ignore him.

"_Muscle fibres not functioning with augmentations. Blood clotting in synthetic arteries. Nerve activity is off the charts."_

"_Rngh! We need to push forward!"_

He roared once more, bellowing his war-cry to rally the few embattled krogan staggering around to his heel. The bewildered – and fascinated – salarian technician followed reluctantly in the dust of the charging krogan.

The three hulking figures barrelled through a veritable legion of defenceless cannibals, husks and marauders although for all of the blood rage they likely did not notice the ineptitude and lack of fight from their enemy. At the far end of their stampede route there were three hunched figures with a perceptible orange glow between them that illuminated another crested silhouette in the ground. They didn't stop to see the sights as they came to a halt to see three salarians attending to a fallen turian with grotesque scars smeared along his right cheek and a malfunctioning visor over his left eye. There was blood everywhere; but for all of the blood Wrex could tell it was him. Garrus Vakarian.

"_Why are there so many frogs here? What's wrong with him?"_

One of the figures, the one bearing an omni-tool readout, rose to answer.

"_Major Kirrahe, STG. Checking for survivors. Only found five bodies. Four human marines and this turian."_

The body shifted and groaned in the foxhole it lay in.

"_Major! We're losing him!"_

Wrex swerved to jab an accusatory finger at the salarian technician who had only just finished catching up, having tripped over immobile husks and been unable to shove any who were standing upright aside half as easily. He panted for breath, barely able to hear the snorting krogan.

"_Call in a shuttle! If he dies, I tie your horns together!"_

With some fearful reluctance he did so, quickly bringing up a radio program.

"_Is there anyone out there? Any shuttles? Anyone?"_

Crackled feedback streamed through the device. Garrus shifted and turned over in the foxhole, spitting blood onto the cracked pavement, with his fingers clawing fruitlessly at the dirt.

"_kkrkvac 7 alpha reporting in, what krrkrkur position?"_

The technician looked up at the krogan and his STG comrades. Kirrahe shook his head.

"_No precise location. No emergency flares left."_

For a moment, Wrex looked about to make good on his promise; but another familiar voice interrupted him.

"_I think... I can help... With that."_

A piercing and unmistakable stream of blue light shone up into the air and exploded into a radiant shower of biotic energy. Its source – a beaten and bruised asari – stumbled over a precipice of uprooted road and dragged herself down to the group. The technician's communicator spat garbled voices out again.

"_kkrare sighted, approaching ykrkk cation now, stand by."_

Wrex shoved aside a lump of masonry and clapped a hand on the shoulder of the visibly distraught asari, yanking her upright and into the cover of a smouldering tank.

"_Nice to see you too, Liara."_

Her eyes swerved to meet Wrex's immovable grin.

"_Shepard... He went into... Into the beam..."_

Liara nodded toward where the transporting beam had sat, now little more than an air of static and a smell of seared flesh remained to tell the tale. The krogan followed her implied gaze and grunted.

"_Pah! Shepard won't be dead!"_

He wasn't entirely convinced of his words, but headed down toward the extinguished beam regardless; he hauled aside enormous pieces of displaced tarmac, bollards and the occasional reaper-minion corpse as he ransacked the rubble for any sign. Half a dozen bodies and a few husks, but no Shepard. He grunted, snarling with some mounting frustration as he put his foot down in a small pool of blood. In it sat a small ablative plate, and scraps of scorched armour followed the blood trail to another high-impact spatter. The body of a marauder was laid not more than a metre or two away, riddled with high-calibre holes.

The shuttle swerved overhead and landed uneasily on the inevitably uneven ground. A team of medics lunged forth from the med-evac shuttle, quickly scuttling to Garrus and carrying his barely alive body on board. Liara shuddered and looked up to the sky as she followed her friend on board the shuttle.

"_Goddess... Don't let him be dead... Please..."_

" _Got anything?"_

Joker held the ship fairly steady, hovering above one of the Citadel arms and looking around at the devastating damage as well as the slaughter of the Reaper fleet still ongoing.

"_No, but we should deploy a team in a shuttle to make sure."_

He nodded an agreement and scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"_We'll have to ask to borrow someone else's. Ours got a bit exploded."_

"_I have already requisitioned a shuttle."_

The first thing was a stab of pain. Then a pulsing, aching pain. Then there was both and worse. Movement was almost impossible and the pounding in his head drowned out his already incoherent thoughts. He could smell virtually nothing but blood; largely his own, he suspected. Anderson still sat motionless beside the likewise immobile body of the Illusive Man. Two smoking pistols provided a much needed alternative smell, even if it was only of oxidised metal. He was still alive, or at least he assumed he was. It caught up to him that he could hear literally almost nothing; most likely deafened and probably blinded by being in such close proximity to the Crucible's discharge. He grunted and tried to turn onto his side. Shepard grimaced. No. That was a bad idea. He might just be making it worse.

_To be Continued_


	2. Chapter 2

"_Man down! I repeat, we have a man down!"_

The shuttle staggered in the air as the pilot wrestled the throttle down and edged it toward the platform. The air was somewhat more turbulent than normal. The lookout barked into his radio.

"_Correction Command – three men down!"_

It hovered just beside the platform and a squad of medics flanked by a pair of Avenger-X wielding spec-ops marines swarmed the platform.

"_Identification in process. Medics are checking for lifesigns."_

The air still crackles with energy. The shifting gases of the Citadel's atmosphere are crackling with static from the sheer brute quantity of power discharged. The less armoured medics jump and jolt occasionally as electricity shocks them lightly. They operate their omni-tools and search for lifesigns dutifully, ignoring the occasional shock.

"_Admiral Anderson confirmed KIA, Command."_

A vague groaning sound. A few husks stagger toward the platform, what little flesh they had peeling away as they moved; the two of the three that didn't simply fall over was crawling.

"_Put'm down!"_

The medics work diligently regardless of the gunfire that tears the feeble husks apart. They grimace at the body's grotesque array of cybernetics that appear to have replaced boundless quantities of his flesh. The gunshot wound betrays the obvious truth.

"_Ident profile matches the Illusive Man. KIA."_

There would be time to worry about why he was on the Citadel or how he got there later. Now the four medics converged on the last body; his chest was heaving with bullet holes drizzling blood from his shoulder. Entire fragments of armour were burnt into his skin and others were falling apart with damage. His skin was cleared of colour and some cybernetics were visible, crackling with unexplained malfunctions. They scan him; but they know who it is as soon as the blood-streaked face comes into view.

"_Commander Shepard located! He's alive, I repeat, he is alive! Get him to the shuttle!"_

Liara stared at her shaking, blood-streaked hands. The shuttle rocked and occasionally buffeted to one side from some air current or stray gunshot. Her stare was infallible. Voices tried to get her attention but she could only think about one person, one thing. They all knew the stakes but it offered little comfort. She closed her eyes and tightened her fists, trying to do what he'd always told her to do. Remember who she cares for, and to know it was worth it. Something worth trying for. Something worth _dying_ for. But no; it was insurmountable hope that gripped her mind. He was Commander Shepard. If anyone could survive this, if _she_ could survive this, _he _could as well.

Concern for Garrus was present. She gazed at him warily as the medics shocked him and drowned his wounds in medi-gel; it possessed her so much less but a tear slid down her cheek. The questions came back. Was it worth dying for? Was it worth losing someone so close to her? She gritted her teeth; she knew he'd reprimand her for it. _Don't be daft,_ he'd say, _destroying all advanced civilisation includes your loved ones you know. Of course it was worth it._ She changed her view and stared at the roof of the shuttle. She barely noticed as they landed, and turned her head slightly to watch as they carried Garrus on board.

"_Are you joining us, Doctor T'Soni?"_

She looked toward Garrus, straight past the medic who'd addressed her. She thought she saw his chest rise and it inspired enough hope in her. She shook her head.

"_No. But keep him safe."_

The medic nods with at thumbs up.

"_Yes ma'am. All right, move 'em out!"_

The shuttle pilot looked around the corner of the chair, silent but clearly expecting instruction. The asari barely hesitated.

"_The Normandy."_

... _He's stable... Needs a hospital... Signs of impromptu implant rejection... Medi-gel is helping but not enough..._

Voices. None of them familiar.

_... Bring them in from a hospital ship; it'll be faster than transferring him..._

That voice was familiar. He tried to place a name but agony seized him.

_Waking up... Doctor, we need to sedate..._

He groaned. He may well have wanted to sit up, to arc his back or even to twitch but there was no response. Nothing worked and everything hurt; his muscles felt debilitated as if atrophied from years of disuse. His thoughts were cloudy and unclear. His memory – even of so familiar a voice – was foggy. He managed to remember just before the sedative put him out of it again. _Chakwas._

_... Coming around again... Sedate?_

_... No. He shouldn't be in pain. Should see if he can talk..._

_... Are you sure? We haven't gotten the extra equipment..._

_... Fine, but if Liara gets here..._

Liara. The name evoked a torrent of brain activity that visibly didn't go unnoticed by his attending doctors as they scrambled for their sedatives. His eyes sprung open and promptly slammed shut from even the dimmed medical bay lighting. The longest of groans erupts from his croaking, sore throat. Everything felt numb; no feeling in anything. Even the headache was gone. He must have been on cloud nine for all of the painkillers inevitably blunting every facet of his nervous system. But he still smiled. His memory stuttered back bit by bit. Liara. She was alive! Then the sedative.

_... He's alive!..._

_... Can't be sure he'll stay..._

_... Know you can hear me, Shepard... Hold on... Hold on for me..._

Her voice carried the feeling of some unearthly swansong. A murmur so far away yet so close he could feel the breath on his face. He felt vaguely aware of her hand in his; the grip was tight as a vice and the anaesthetic had dulled just enough for it to register. Enough for the pain to come back, like something was eating away at his insides. Unconsciousness was quick to return.

_... Was successful. Halted the rejection..._

_... He'll live?.._

_Yes._

It was sounding less like a dream by 'Yes'. Less like his mind was conjuring words instead of processing what his ears were picking up. More like reality was replacing the constant sedation. More like Liara's hand in his wasn't just a self-comforting illusion to keep him in the game. She was there. But there was only so long he could stay aware and awake. Still swimming in tranquilisers and painkillers.

_Liara. You haven't eaten all day._

_Not leaving his side._

_I'll get something for you._

_Thank you._

His eyes open once more. The lights are practically out so they stay open. He feels the dampness of tears and the softness of skin in his palm. He could finally turn his head and look upon her. She's clearly exhausted and hasn't let go of his hand. He tries to speak but there's nothing. He manages one gesture before going out of it again. His fingers curl and grip the limp, tired hand in his palm. One thought, strong and true; he wished he could share it as his eyes closed. _I'm here, Liara._

"_It's been three days. I think we can wake him." _

The voice was clear as day. He needed no waking and his memory was working well enough to tell him his trusty doctor was there. He coughed and hacked, fingers grasping Liara's hand tight as he finally open his eyes properly. They stayed open and he perceived the blurred, greyed shapes that surrounded him (and the straight-edged lines of extensive medical machinery). He parted his lips and dragged air through his vocal cords.

"_I need a vacation." _He grunted in tones laced with dull but potent pain, shifting to test his muscles.

Liara started at his voice. It became apparent she had taken to sitting upon his bed; he'd been sitting up with his back on her chest. She'd held him close with one arm, protectively and diligently. Her cerulean skin brushed against his cheek in the corner of his vision and he smiled, turning his head slowly to get a look at her. Her eyes glistened with tears and were marred with the obvious signs of someone who hadn't slept enough for three days.

He looked away from the blue face and only now realised there was a veritable ocean of faces staring at him. Each one was familiar and each one beaming with relief. One of them, a slightly aged face with grey hair smiled faintly. Ah, Doctor Chakwas. Always there. Infallible.

"_You've a long recovery to go yet, but I think we should leave you for a bit."_

Mutual understanding swept through the assembled crew that now departed the medical bay in a respectful silence. There was a lot to explain. What happened, how did it work? What needed cleaning up? Was there any fighting left to do? The casualty count? Did all of his crew make it? But it would wait a few minutes.

"_I was so worried."_

He sat with his back propped against the back of the bed, now. She knelt on both knees on the bed with her arms around his shoulders. His arms rested more limply around her, but still mustered the strength to pull her close and into a hug. A hand lifted to stroke her head lovingly, and the pain which his muscles gave out seemed redundant and unimportant.

"_Pfah. I died once. Wasn't about to do it again now was I?"_

He smiled and chuckled hoarsely, her giving him the same look of amazement he'd grown accustomed to seeing. Despite falling in and out of consciousness for three days, dipping into periods of uncertainty and drifting dangerously close to death and he still managed to find something somewhat lacking in seriousness.

"_Shepard, I... I really thought..."_

His hand caressed her head-tentacles again, weak fingers sliding along their length carefully and gently. Another smile spread on his expression as he kissed the tip of her nose.

"_I know, Liara. I'm alive. And you know what that means, right?"_

She gave him a quizzical look that reminded him fleetingly of the socially inept scientist she was when he met her first. It was adorable and never stopped being adorable. He held her head in both hands now as he continued.

"_We retire from saving the galaxy, go somewhere sunny."_

He paused to watch her smile grow before concluding.

"_Have lots of little blue children."_

She sank into another of her adorable features, blushing with ferocious embarrassment and diverting her gaze. A raised voice tried to make out a reprimand but came out as a slightly whined protest laced with utterly insincere anger and traces of laughter.

"_Shepard!"_

Even with a throbbing throat and a headache to rival a sky-car crash victim he still laughed raucously. It was as if nothing else had happened, and certainly as if nothing else mattered. In a moment they fell into something of a solemn silence. He lifted a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. Words gave way to the ever-more meaningful realm of action and movement. The slight contortions of pain marred his features and more-still of his face was still covered by medical patches, bandages or plasters.

Both hands took hold of her cheeks and her fingers grasped at his wrists. It was sinking in; they'd both survived against all odds. Through the fire and the flames they'd come out standing. Together. They seized each other by the shoulders, tilted their heads and pressed their lips together. Eyes slid shut to savour the moment of passion. Nothing needed to be said, but they did anyway on the undertones of their breath.

"_I love you."_

**To Be Continued**


End file.
